Kim wondered if she should have just shot it out to the death. Given the alternative, which included interrogation and torture, there was a certain appeal in just letting the lights go out. But she still had Bayat’s life to consider. And because she still maintained an inkling of hope that she could return him to his family back in Texas, she surrendered without a fight.
Kim walked down the concrete steps into the empty swimming pool and looked over at Bayat. It was clear by the look on his face that he had noticed the same thing she had. The drain at the deep end was plugged by a tarpaulin and covered in bricks. Glancing up at the dozen or so gunmen, who had their Kalashnikov rifles trained down from the rim of the pool, Kim shielded her eyes from the glare and spun around to find a video camera mounted on the diving board.
Kim swallowed hard and turned to Bayat, whose eyes were fixed on it too. “I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I know it’s not good.”
Bayat looked down at the tarp and then back to her. “My son, Liam. You knew him well?”
At first, Kim was taken aback by the question, wondering if he was delusional. But then she noticed that Bayat’s eyes were no longer empty, as they had been from his months of starvation and interrogation. He was oddly lucid, as if he’d perked up by coming to terms with his fate.
If these were to be their last moments on earth, Kim wanted them to be pleasant ones. “Yes, I did.” For his sake, she forced a pleasant smile. “I visited him a few times. His farm is beautiful.”
Bayat let out a weak chuckle. “My son is a lot of things. A great engineer. A science wiz. But a country boy, he is not.”
Kim looked up again and glanced around the edge of the pool to find the gunmen were gone. She would indulge Bayat with stories of his son, for as long as time would allow. Which she suspected wouldn’t be long. “I think Liam might surprise you.”
“How so?” Bayat shot her an inquisitive look. “He’s never been one for change.”
“Well, he’s made a few new friends since you were back home. My friend, Garrett, has been helping him get the ranch in shape and take care of the cattle. They even have horses now.”
“Horses?” Bayat’s eyes lit up. “That’s my grandson, Wade, for sure. Takes after my wife’s side of the family. Cowboys, all of them.”
Kim detected a deep pride in Bayat’s voice. “Oh yeah, Liam has jumped right in with both feet. Was even wearing a cowboy hat the last time I saw him.”
Although Bayat was smiling, his eyes filled with tears. “Would’ve liked to have seen that.”
Kim wanted to say you still will but knew better. “He’s made a hand, I’m told.” She shook her head. “Still don’t really know what that means, but I guess it’s a compliment in Texas.”
“A big one.” Bayat’s eyes brightened. “Means he’s come into his own. He’s doing all right.” A pause proceeded his next words. “Means I should be very proud of him.”
“You have every reason to be,” Kim assured. “Liam is a good man. A good father.”
Sadness came back into Bayat’s eyes. “And a good son.”
Kim had just draped her arm around Bayat’s shoulder when she looked up to find a fifty-gallon drum had been rolled to the edge of the pool. She immediately recognized the colors and markings on the side of the barrel, as belonging to a chain of national gas stations that were scattered about the country. Instinctively, she looked to Bayat, who was fixated on it too.
When a second and third barrel arrived, it was obvious why they were down there. It wasn’t enough for them to die. The camera was to capture them being burned alive.
Whether it was supposed to be a warning to the West, homage to the Taliban, or a plain old act of cruelty, Kim didn’t know. But her knees got weak as her mind swam in visions of what unthinkable horror and blinding pain was soon to come.
“Let’s not go quietly.” Bayat grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Let’s make them earn it.”
Kim gave a nod and turned to the gunman at the steps. “That’s the only way out.”
He seemed to have anticipated their thinking, shouldered his Kalashnikov, and barked something in Dari that neither of them understood. Kim suspected the traffickers had not gone to all this trouble for nothing, and any attempt to escape would be met with the butt of a rifle instead of a bullet to the head. But she’d prefer to be unconscious if consumed by fire.
Kim gave Bayat’s palm a couple of squeezes to let him know it was time, but before they could move, a commotion up top grabbed her attention. One by one, the drums were laid over on their sides and the contents sloshed into the deep end of the pool. It only took a moment for the sweet benzene smell of gasoline to waft past, burning her nostrils. She had just turned for the stairs when the rattle of automatic weapons fire sounded out from above.
Kim expected to feel either the rip of bullets into her back or the blister of burning gas but was instead met with the thunk and flop of dead bodies on concrete, and the simultaneous clang and clatter of rifles landing inside the pool. For a moment, the shooting intensified, then dropped to an occasional pop-pop that echoed against the concrete.
Slowly, the moans of the dying subsided, and all that was left was a gurgle of gasoline as it poured from the last drum. Kim helped Bayat up the steps to find that any gunmen who hadn’t been cut down and fallen inside the pool was lying around it. Their bodies were bloodied and twisted, riddled with bullet holes from head to toe.
Kim cupped a hand over her eyes, given the harsh light, and made a complete circle on the last step. Scanning the top of the mansion’s roof, she stopped short at the sight of a man behind the trigger of the PKM machine gun—the one on the parapet she’d seen during their escape.
Kim thought for a moment that it might be the English speaker, Ozzy. But she was in for an even greater surprise. Their savior, in this moment, looked more like his brother than he ever had before. As it turned out, Faraz wasn’t too far gone after all.